


Insatiable

by Caro Dee (Caro_Dee)



Series: Insatiable [1]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: F/M, Idfic, M/M, Masturbation, POV First Person, Scent Marking, Sentinel Senses, Sex Addiction, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Molestation of Sleeping/Unconscious Person, Sexual Obsession, Stalking, Trespassing, Voyeurism, WNGWJLEO
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-13
Updated: 2011-05-13
Packaged: 2017-10-19 08:15:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/198799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caro_Dee/pseuds/Caro%20Dee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim plays with his senses and goes down the path of sexual addiction and obsession. Blair is oblivious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Insatiable

**Author's Note:**

> Written back in June 2003, this series was my first fanfic and is definitely idfic. I challenged myself to tell a story only through sex scenes. My original intention was simply to explore how sentinel senses might affect Jim’s sexual experiences. It was only when I hit Section IV, that I realized having him so focused on Blair for grounding was shifting the story into obsession and I went with that. Made for a seriously creepy, cheerful Jim.  
> It was betaed by the folks over at Sentinel_Betas, with special thanks to Bluewolf for grammar, and Rebel Dante, ShayAlyce, and ALF for support and reassurance.

Blair Sandburg is the best lover I've ever had. I guess it might surprise Blair a little to hear that. It's the Sentinel/Guide connection that makes things so good between us. Blair doesn't have to do anything special, just be there for me. And he is.

It doesn't hurt that he's beautiful to all my senses. It's not just the way he looks or the rich sound of his voice, he just plain smells incredible! You'd be surprised how many people don't and I've learned the importance of more "primitive" senses in the pursuit of pleasure. But everything about Blair Sandburg is perfect, like he was made for me.

It took me a while to understand how lucky I am to have my Guide in my life. What a difference it makes. No matter how difficult this Sentinel business becomes, Blair makes it all worthwhile. I guess you could say he's my reward.

I'm just sorry that Blair can't participate more fully, because I know I could make him happy too. But I can't risk it. No way am I losing this thing with Blair. So he's not ever going to find out.

 

 **I. THE FIRST TIME**

The first time is a total shock and about as unromantic as it gets.

Sandburg partied too hard last night. I'm already up, reading the paper and drinking my coffee, when he staggers moaning from his room into the bathroom. When I hear the first retching, I smirk, dial down my sense of smell and head over to help.

Sandburg's on the floor, clutching desperately at the toilet bowl. I can see the muscles on his back and sides rippling as his stomach contracts, spewing out his guts. Crouching down behind him, I reach out and pull the sides of his hair out of the way. Sandburg groans to acknowledge my presence and heaves some more. Sympathy heaves are a distinct possibility here, so I dial down my hearing too.

I've always liked Sandburg's hair. The look of it, the feel of it, even the smell of it--when it's clean--it gives me a lot of general sensory enjoyment. Today, there's one curl waving in the air above my right hand. Sandburg ducks his head and heaves again and that curl lightly sweeps across my knuckles.

What the _hell_ was that?! It feels like I stuck my finger in a light socket. Pleasure zings straight through my body to my crotch, which hardens instantly.  
God, it looks like Sandburg's throwing up his stomach lining and he keeps moving and his hair keeps stroking over me. It just keeps whispering over my skin and it feels so damned good! Maybe it's because I've dialed down smell and hearing, and sight isn't too appetizing right now... but my sense of touch is somehow dialed up so high that it feels like that one curl is stroking my whole body and in the best way possible. It's like my whole hand is suddenly alive, bursting with so much sensation it could split the skin. And that beautiful pressure moves up my arm, across my whole body and down into my cock. And my cock is just _aching_ with it. It’s never felt this fantastic before!

Maybe I should have been thinking this is Sandburg. He's my friend, he's hurting, and this is sort of sick, so stop it right now. But what I'm actually thinking is, ‘Whatever this is, I _want_ it!’

It's coming... I can feel it coming like a freight train and I know it's going to be the best I've ever had and nothing is going to make me stop this. I drop to my knees behind my oblivious vomiting roommate and clench my jaw to keep from yelling. The pleasure is so intense I wonder if I'm going to zone, but Sandburg's presence keeps me anchored and aware and so fucking grateful to him that I'm not going to lose this.

And... here… it... is... _Yes! Yes! Oh my FUCKING God!_ My entire body tenses and I throw back my head in a silent scream and my hips jerk and jerk to the pounding of this amazing miracle orgasm. _Uh... uh... good... oh god so good!_

From far away I hear the faint sound of Sandburg as he reaches up and flushes the toilet. "You doing okay there, Jim? You're breathing kind of funny. Don't throw up on me here."

The aftershocks are still running through me. Dialing my hearing back up, I slide my hands from his hair down to his shoulders and squeeze gently. Part of me almost wants to pull him towards me, bury my face in his hair--I mean, it _was_ the best I've ever had--but the brain in my head is waking back up. "Yeah, Chief, the smell's getting to me. Are you okay? Do you want some orange juice or something?"

Sandburg closes the toilet lid and lays his head down, groaning. "I don't think I can move from here but, yeah, I'd love some juice."

I pull my robe around me to hide the damp boxers and get him his juice and aspirin. Rub his back. Wring out a warm washcloth to wipe his face. Pull out the mouthwash. Do _not _think about what just happened.__

 _Sandburg finally tells me to stop fussing and throws me out. I grab my coffee and head upstairs._

 _I pull off my boxers and stand there with them crumpled in one hand, staring down at my sticky groin. I can still feel the aftershocks buzzing through me. If my senses had still been normal, all I would have felt was the endorphin rush. But my touch dial is high and, standing there, I turn it up even higher and sway under the increased sensation. The individual muscle fibers are still twitching eagerly and every time they do, nearby nerves pick it up and send a jolt right up to the pleasure center in my brain. My whole crotch is warm and relaxed and throbbing and very, very happy. I lie down and let my body revel in the feeling._

 _But mentally I'm more confused than happy. It's been almost six months since I became active as a Sentinel, and I've dated a couple of women since then. The sex has been really good, more intense than before, but nothing like this. Even jerking off has been tame compared to this. Why now? Why _Sandburg?_ _

I've always been straight. Never been attracted to guys and it's sure never occurred to me to think of Sandburg that way. This is coming way out of left field.

Felt really good though. I grin up at the ceiling and run an experimental hand along my cock, catching my breath at how the nerves sit up and beg. Oh yeah, I want this again.

I grip my cock and begin my usual rhythm. Within seconds I'm hard as a rock and panting and thrusting into my hand. It feels... _so good... too good... too much..._ A sensory spike slams into me and everything goes away.

Someone is calling me. I struggle towards the voice. "Jim, come on, man. Wake up. Too much of a good thing isn't necessarily healthy. Come on back, man."

I open my eyes and look up into Sandburg's drawn yet amused face. The afghan from downstairs is covering me.

 _Aaaw, fuck!_

All the blood that used to be in my cock slams into my face, turning it beet red. I close my eyes and groan, "Just... go away, Sandburg. Please."

"Hey, Jim, no need to be embarrassed. It's not like I don't do it too, and I've got no privacy here either."

"Yeah, well, it's not like I deliberately listen, Sandburg. And I've never... walked in on you."

"You were zoned, Jim. I couldn't risk leaving you to come out of it on your own. I'm sorry, but it's no big deal."

"Hey!" I protest, a corner of my mouth curling up. But I'm still not opening my eyes.

"Okaaay, you are a giant among men, Jim. Feel better?" Sandburg's teasing voice softens. "You know, Jim, you have to be careful. I know the sentinel senses must feel incredible sexually. But you have to maintain your dials and not zone out. Don't dial too high, no matter how good it feels." Then his voice brightens. "Unless you want a threesome and I'll hold your hand while you're doing it with some gorgeous redhead."

I throw my pillow at him and he dodges it, running down the stairs laughing and wincing from the hangover.

My eyes narrow in thought as they follow Sandburg through the loft. That was it. That was the missing piece. During sex, I'm risking a zone-out if I raise the dials too high. So I keep the dials low, and the sex is only slightly better than normal. But as a Sentinel, I'm capable of _unimaginable_ pleasure. What just happened is proof of that. The only problem is...

I can only release my control if my guide anchors me. Only with Sandburg. It'll only ever happen with Sandburg. Sandburg's straight.

This could get a little tricky.

Still, I'm thinking... 'Bang! Holy Grail Time.'

* * *

It's early morning and the incredible smells from the bakery downstairs waft through the air. Rich molecules of bear claws and blueberry muffins and buttermilk donuts burst in my nasal passages and on my tongue. Arching my back and gritting my teeth, I stroke my morning erection to the rhythm of Sandburg's heart.

* * *

With a grunt, I haul myself up over the chain link fence. I can hear Sandburg puffing gamely a block back. Adrenaline is surging through me and I feel the hot, heavy pulsing in my cock. I wrench the dial down and speed up. I'm gaining on the suspect.

* * *

"Don't zone, Jim." Sandburg puts his hand on my shoulder. With a start, I realize I've been dreamily running my fingers along the silky cashmere of my sweater, wondering how it would feel wrapped around my cock. Then I consider the dry-cleaning expense and think, 'No way.'

 

 **II. THE BUBBLE BATH**

Thank God, I'm home. I hang up my jacket and slowly move over to the couch, grunting as I sit down, and wonder if I can train Sandburg to fetch me a beer and slippers.

"Jim, what's the matter?"

"Pulled a muscle in my back chasing down a suspect today. Hurts like hell, Chief."

Sandburg does indeed bring me a beer. And pain-relievers and the heating pad and the remote. Not bad, not bad. I could get used to this. Then he offers to massage my back.

I hesitate for a second. On the one hand, Sandburg's massages are pretty damn good and really would help. On the other, it's only been a few months since this... _thing_... started and I'm not certain of my control. Dial down too far and the massage won't do me much good. Dial up enough to enjoy it and I'll end up enjoying it a little _too_ much, if you know what I mean. Right in front of Sandburg. An experience I'm not eager to repeat after having him walk in on me zoned on my cock.

Then I realize there's a happy solution here. "Can I take you up on it in an hour, Sandburg? I'd really like to just soak in some hot water right now."

"No problem, Jim. Take your time."

"Thanks a lot, kid." I reach out and tousle his hair affectionately. Then I grab my beer and head into the bathroom. Stripping and tossing the clothes in the dirty laundry, I start the bath running and, wincing, reach way back under the sink to grab my hidden stash. Unscrew the bottle and take a deep whiff, enjoying the herbal smell of Sandburg's shower gel. A couple of capfuls go in the bath. I hesitate and then add a couple more. The more bubbles, the better.

I ease down into the hot water with a deep sigh. The shower gel foams up and I lie there, enjoying the swirling hot water creeping up on my balls. Take a long swig of cold beer. The contrast is just perfect.

I discovered the pleasure of bubbles early on. Up until then, I was still just using my hands. Which has the convenience of always being available no matter where I am, and cleans up quick. Besides I have a lot of control with my hands. I can get the stimulus just right, just where I need it. And hands are silent, which is important when Sandburg's awake and moving around downstairs, unaware that I'm lying in my bed stroking myself, using his heartbeat and the sounds of his breathing to ground me.

I was standing in the kitchen washing the dishes, soapsuds up to my elbows, enjoying the comfortable sounds of Sandburg's heartbeat in the living room and the click click of his keyboard as he typed up his notes from our last test. I must have gotten lost in my hearing because my touch dial went up without my realizing it. I _felt_ the soap bubbles on my arms and came right there in the kitchen, humping up against the counter. If I made any noise, the running water covered it and Sandburg never even looked up from his laptop.

The next night, I experimented in privacy and was more than happy with the results. I kind of fixated on the smell of Sandburg's shower gel, which was all that I could find that night. It's on my permanent shopping list now.

A lot of my discoveries in the first months are like that. Sometimes what I think will feel good doesn't; sometimes I stumble onto something very fine indeed. A good rule of thumb is the higher up I can dial, the better it feels and the higher the dials, the lighter, more delicate the stimulation needs to be. I keep my eyes peeled and my mind open these days, always looking for the next best sensation.

For the first time in my life, I'm actually grateful for my senses.

I reach out with my toes and turn off the water. Tub's as full as it's going to get. Being a big guy in a small tub means less than half of me is under water and my knees are sticking up. But that's actually a good thing. It means the entire front of my body is covered in foamy bubbles.

I put the beer bottle down on the floor. Take a moment to tune into the Sounds of Sandburg and make sure I'm anchored to his heartbeat. Then I bite down on a washcloth as a makeshift gag and I'm good to go.

I bring the touch dial up slowly, savoring the increasing awareness. My cock hardens and pokes up through the suds and I gather handfuls and pack them up around my cock until it's completely covered. I also spread handfuls over my inner thighs and my chest, around my nipples and armpits. Gotta cover all the bases.

It's starting to feel really good. I bite down on my gag and moan, eyeing the bubbles expectantly. Each bubble is a thing of beauty, perfectly formed and clear. Then a blob of rich purple and green will swirl over the surface in an oily slick, the color deepening and spreading until suddenly, _Pop!_ The bubble bursts. I cling to Sandburg's heartbeat, almost zoning on the white mass of bubbles, eagerly anticipating all the darkening ones, the ones about to burst oh-so-sweet against my skin.

When I was a kid, there was a candy called Pop Rocks. You'd shake it onto your tongue, and the candy would fizz and perk all over your mouth. Imagine that feeling all over your body, more refined, more pervasive, more insistent.

I'm in heaven as the bubbles continue bursting all over me, the stimulation never letting up. My back is killing me and I don't care. My feet are braced up against the tiles, my thighs clenching and unclenching, my head flailing, banging gently against the edge of the tub. _Oh yeah so good so good!_

Finally, when I think I can't stand another second of this, my cock explodes, fountaining into the air. My pelvis jerks wildly, sending waves of water sloshing around, spilling onto the floor. _Oh god... Yes!_

I lie there limp in the water and suddenly the bubbles are too much, irritating over-stimulated nerves. Lowering the dial, I heave myself up and let the water drain out. Turning on the shower, I rinse off the soapsuds and let the hot water drum against the soreness in my back. Just have to wipe up the spilled water and I'm done. I'm feeling pleasantly drained, confident I can handle Sandburg's massage now.

Until I step out of the bathroom, bathrobe wrapped around me, and come to a full stop. Sandburg's done some rearranging while I've been busy. The loft is darkened, lit by meditation candles. He's made a nest of blankets on the floor in front of the cast iron stove, which has a nice fire roaring in it. There's quiet music playing in the background. Part of me understands he's making it easier for my senses, the other part is startled by what reads like a seduction scene. To my shock, my cock is actually stirring with interest.

"Um," I stare at Sandburg like a deer caught in the headlights. "I... uh, I forgot something in the bathroom. Can you give me another ten minutes?" I try real hard to look like a guy who just needs to take a dump.

"Sure, Jim. Just let me know when you're ready."

Back to the bathroom. Bathrobe off. No time for subtlety, this is going to be quick and dirty. I lean over the sink, turn on the water, adjust the temperature. Then I use one hand to hold the head of my cock under the warm, strong rush of the water and the other to rub the sweet spot behind my balls. My cock hardens right up. I get a quick flash of Blair massaging me, his hands moving lower and lower on my back, seeing his oil-slick finger slip between my cheeks and touch my asshole, and I come hard, spraying the sink.

Panting, I clutch the sides of the sink and wonder, ‘What the hell? I must be desperate if Sandburg's starting to look good.’ I clean up and sit down on the toilet, taking the rest of the ten minutes to bring my breathing and my color back to normal, glaring my limp cock into submission.

Then I put the robe back on and go out to get my massage.

* * *

"Good night, Chief!" I reach out to whap Sandburg's head as I pass by him. He just laughs and keeps on reading his textbook. Later on, I realize the scent of Sandburg's hair is still on my hand. I bring it up to my nose and sniff, surprised to feel the sudden spasm of pleasure in my cock as I work it with my other hand. 'Well, alright,' I think and sniff my hand again.

* * *

I rest my cheek against the blonde hair of the pretty woman dancing in my arms, smelling her arousal. She smells wonderful and I'm thinking she'll taste just as good. There's a square of material cut from one of Sandburg's used T-shirts in my pocket and I'm ready for tonight.

 **III. THE MORNING SHOWER**

I stop in the middle of slicing a bagel and grin. Oh, yeah, Blair is jerking off in the shower again. Extending my hearing, I catch the panting and the humming and the slick, wet sound of Blair's hand sliding over his cock. My own stirs and lengthens in my boxers. Blair only does it in the shower a couple times a week but it's a very pleasant way to start the day.

I pop the bagel in the toaster and pour myself some coffee. I sip it and stare dreamily at the bathroom door, attention focused on Blair. By now it's easy to slide the touch dial up and feel the heartbeat throb of blood swelling my cock like a balloon.

Blair is pumping his cock faster now, his voice moving from hums of satisfaction to eager muttered words of pleasure.

I cup my crotch, hissing at the sharp pang of pleasure, and pull out my cock quickly. Tiny rhythmic squeezes matching the rhythm of Blair's strokes make me grunt happily. I put the mug down before I drop it and lean against the counter.

Blair is beginning to pant steadily and I synchronize my breathing to his. Blair's hand is moving fast as a blur. I visualize it and see the head of Blair's cock like a ripe purple plum ready to burst, and my cock spasms with pleasure. I'm quietly banging my head against the cabinet. My cock knows Blair's rhythms and knows he's about to shoot and it's eager for it. Most mornings this happens, I'm perfectly happy to come simultaneously, but today... today I want to give my mouth a treat.

With real discipline, I wrench the touch dial down to zero just as Blair makes happy noises and climaxes. Blair's come bubbles and spurts out of his cock and splats against the shower tiles. I sigh with anticipation and glance down to make sure I dialed down fast enough. Tuck my cock back in and wash my hands. There's time to eat the bagel before Blair finishes brushing his teeth and shaving.

"You better have left me some hot water, Chief!" I yell after Blair's retreating back.

"Yeah, yeah. Plenty left, Jim."

I snort. Blair _never_ leaves a lot of hot water. I've learned to shower quickly.

I close the bathroom door and take a deep breath. _Oh yeah..._ Pheromones and musk and semen fill the air like a rich spice. I stand there rolling the scent through my nose and over my tongue. Smell is the oldest sense, and it kicks my snake brain, waking up the old mating instinct. I sway from foot to foot, quietly growling. My touch is back up and my cock is throbbing eagerly.

I lean forward and scent the shower stall, sweeping back and forth, looking for my prize. There! Blair's always a little careless cleaning up after himself. A small splatter of come clings to the wall, white and creamy.

Stepping into the shower, I place both hands against the wall and lean in towards his spunk. I close my eyes and flare my nostrils, taking in Blair's scent, Blair's sex. Oh, yeah. This is the real deal. A million times better than Viagra.

I spread my feet apart to make room for the swollen cock and balls bobbing between my legs, heavy and full. Savor another sniff of semen and feel them swell and tighten further. My entire world focuses on Blair's scent and my growing urgency.

The air currents from Blair's shower, the dance of hot and cold air brushing against me, so light, almost a tickling sensation, titillate me and quicken my breath. My heart is beating faster and the pumping of my blood squeezes my cock internally, more rhythmic and implacable than my own hand could ever be. My hips began to buck from the increasing intensity of sensation. _So good... so fucking fucking good._

The smell of my guide's come calls to me, teases me, promising ecstasy. I groan and press the flat of my tongue over the white drop, maximizing the number of tastebuds that come into contact, and the taste and feel of thousands of sperm wriggling explode through my body, sending the touch dial even higher. My senses expand and merge and I feel Blair's sperm sensuously writhing over my body, my cock, and my throat locks and my orgasm surges out of me.

I can't breathe and my whole body spasms over and over again and I would scream with joy if I could. _Thank you Blair... thank you._

At some point, I've fallen and bruised my knees but I could care less. Gasping for breath, I ride the aftershocks with smug satisfaction. There's a reason I don't do this one often but, when it happens, it's damn good.

As soon as I can, I stand up and shower army quick. Then I rinse down the tiles with a hell of a lot more efficiency than Blair did.

Well, that was exhausting but pleasant. I dry off, put my robe on, and go into the kitchen for another cup of coffee.

Blair looks up from his breakfast and grins. "See, man, I left you plenty of hot water."

Smiling lazily over at my guide, I say, with complete sincerity, "Yeah. Thanks, Chief."

* * *

I'm standing naked, hips rolling lazily, in front of the stereo speaker, volume and bass turned way up. Sweet vibrations shake my aching cock down to the very last cell. Eyes closed, dreamily mouthing the armpit of Blair's used T-shirt, I think, 'God, Santana fucking _rocks!_ '

* * *

Blair's mumbling as he tries to get dressed. "Shit, where _are_ they?" He pops his head out as I'm blearily making coffee. "Jim, my man, can I borrow a T-shirt and boxers? The gremlins have stolen mine again." He barrels up the stairs to my room, pulling out drawers and rummaging through them. I flinch guiltily, and wonder what excuse I can use to buy him new ones.

* * *

When Blair introduces his new girlfriend, I look her over, unsmiling, and decide I don't like her. Something about her particular scent on my guide is disturbing. Blair gives me the 'We'll talk about your rudeness later' look. After they head out, I lie down on Blair's bed and roll around until everything smells right again. Then I jerk off on his sheets. I wipe most of it up afterwards, leaving just a little. Just so I know it's there.

 

 **IV. MAKING IT BALANCE**

The alarm clock goes off at 3:00 a.m. and I react instantly, reaching over to slap it off. The alarm's on the lowest setting, loud as a fire alarm to me, but seems to be inaudible to Blair.

I roll back on the bed and reach out downstairs to the steady thump thump of his heart. Asleep. Sweet, dark desire coils in my belly. I lie there, enjoying the sensation of blood vessels opening to accommodate the rushing blood swelling and stretching my cock.

Time to get up and move silently down the stairs. Pausing at Blair's door, I check again to verify he's deep asleep. Can't risk his waking up. Blair's a forgiving guy, but I'm pretty sure even his level of tolerance isn't generous enough to condone this.

Normally, I brace myself against the door and do it from there. If, by any chance, Blair wakes up, it doesn't take me a second to pull back into the dark hallway to wait silently until he falls back asleep. Until I can come back and finish.

But tonight... tonight Blair was injured, slashed by a perp who pulled a knife during the chase. Seven stitches on his left shoulder. The doctor prescribed painkillers and I insisted on Blair's taking them over his objections that some herbal remedy would work just as well. No pain for Blair on my watch. It also puts him out like a light.

He's not waking up tonight. I can... indulge myself. I _need_ to be closer to Blair. I need the reassurance. I could have lost him tonight, but I didn't. He's here safe in his bed.

I move in quietly with all my old ranger training and sink to the floor by the side of the bed. The faint light from the alley makes the darkness no barrier to my sight and I take the opportunity to really look at Blair's face. Most people look faintly stupid asleep, but Blair either looks innocent as a puppy or like he's thinking deep thoughts about something in his dreams. I smile at the thought. Yeah, he probably talks non-stop in his dreams too. For a moment, the feeling of warmth in my heart is stronger than the heat in my groin.

Reaching out with one finger, I trace the line of his eyebrows, the tips of his eyelashes, the curve of his mouth, beautiful enough to be a woman's mouth. I lean forward to drop the faintest of kisses on those lips and think to myself, 'I am kissing Blair,' and shiver.

Then I straighten back up and gently but efficiently lift and fold back the blankets so that I can see more of him. Ignoring the faint reek of hospital and old blood, I push up the sweatshirt to expose Blair's chest, running my hand lightly over the abundant hair. The nerves in my palm tingle and my cock twitches impatiently. I follow the trail of his fur down to where it disappears into his sweatpants. For a moment I gently cup the mound of his crotch, feeling the heat and shape of his cock brand itself onto my palm. Debating with myself whether or not to pull the sweats down past his hips, I reluctantly decide that pulling it out from under him might be enough to wake him.

I console myself by leaning my face down until I'm almost touching and inhale the scent of Blair's crotch. The male musk of it is strong and overwhelming. My eyes drift shut and I almost purr with enjoyment. Blair smells most like Blair here and, although I like all his body scents, I've come to like the tang of his sex the best.

With a start, I realize that I've focused too strongly on smell and gone into a mild zone. Blair's clock tells me that I've drifted off for over ten minutes. I carefully anchor back on Blair's heartbeat and sternly remind myself to keep checking that I'm still grounded. Looking down, I almost laugh. Oh, hell, I've gone and drooled on his crotch.

Time to move this along. I stand up and remove my boxers, easing it gently down past my engorged cock. Senses fully focused on Blair, alert to any sign that he's waking up, slowly and carefully, I ease onto the bed. My hands on either side of Blair's shoulders and my feet spread out by Blair's ankles, I hold myself in a push-up position. I'm carefully not touching Blair, but my cock bobs impatiently between my legs and stretches down, yearning for him. I want to lie down on Blair. Feel him on every inch of my skin. Grind my erection into his until I come. But I know I can't do it. Blair would never want that.

I lower my body slightly and stop when I hit the electromagnetic field that surrounds all living things. It's a faint tingle on my skin when I dial really high. When I told Blair I could feel it, he teased me for days about my "aura"-reading skills. Rocking back and forth, I lightly stimulate myself with the sensation.

I've never been this close to Blair during sex and I'm very excited. A drop of pre-come forms at the tip of my cock, like an itch I have to scratch. I scoot up a little and lower my hips until the head just rests on the surface of the hair above Blair's navel. Then, I begin to rock again in tiny movements, drawing my cock through Blair's hair. Every hair reaches out and caresses me. It reminds me of our first time. The sensation is incredible and I stifle a moan of pleasure. I check my anchor on Blair's heartbeat because this is so good, I'm going to lose it fast.

The speed of my rocking increases. The pleasure in my cock ratchets up higher. I'm panting heavily and grimacing with the effort of not moaning out loud. The pleasure is intense enough that it's almost painful and I don't know how I can stand it but I do and I do and I do. If Blair woke up right now, I wouldn't be able to stop this. _Don't wake up Blair... please please don't wake up._

My thoughts begin to disintegrate under the ecstasy. My balls are drawing up and... here it comes! I drop my head to watch. I'm shaking apart in the intensity of my orgasm and all I can think is... _I'm coming... I'm coming on Blair... on Blair... on Blair... on Blair._ And the sight of my cock spurting all over Blair's stomach satisfies something dark in me.

My arms and legs tremble as I slowly ease myself off the bed. My whole body is buzzing and I can't seem to wipe the grin off my face. God, that was a good one.

I stand there for a few minutes just letting myself enjoy the afterglow, catching my breath and admiring the view. Blair looks completely debauched with his clothes half off and my spunk glistening on his belly.

I can't bring myself to feel ashamed of what I've done, although I know the man I used to be would. I've crossed the line tonight, done something I can never undo. Watching Blair from the doorway with my hand on my cock is one thing. But now I've moved from voyeurism to sexual assault, even if Blair will never know it. I don't even care that I've done it.

I never asked to be a Sentinel and I've endured migraines and sensory spikes and life-threatening zones. I've saved lives at the cost of my own pain. This – Blair--is my reward. This is how it balances.

This is how I make it balance. I know I'm not going to stop. I just can't ever let Blair find out. Losing him... Losing access to him is not acceptable.

Grabbing my boxers, I walk into the bathroom. I take a piss and clean myself off and put the boxers back on. Soaking a washcloth in warm water and wringing it out, I go back and gently wipe Blair clean. Carefully, I rearrange his clothes and tuck the blankets around him. I hesitate for a moment, then lean down and kiss his forehead.

Sleep well, Blair. We'll do this again tomorrow night.

I drop the washcloth in the hamper and head up to bed. Reset the alarm for 6:30 and lie down. I fall straight asleep.

* * *

The kitten is all eyes and needle-sharp claws in my hand. I rub my finger against the soft white fur of its belly. Idly, I wonder how that would feel against my cock. "Pretty cat," I tell my eight-year-old neighbor and hand her kitten back.

* * *

I've got my face buried in Blair's pillow, smothering my cries, as my hips pump faster and faster into the soft, silky rabbit fur placed under me. _Oh god so sweet... so fucking fucking sweet._

* * *

I'm pretty sure the saleswoman thinks I'm a crossdresser as she explains how to maintain a real human hair wig. Still, she's professional and polite. The wig is dark brunette with a natural curl that won't wash out. I take it home and carefully wash it in Blair's shampoo and conditioner and blow-dry it. Right now, I have handfuls of the wig wrapped around my cock, and I'm humping it with enthusiasm. It's not the real thing, but it'll do. It'll really fucking _do!_

 

 **V. THE JOY OF CAMPING**

I'm squirming in my sleeping bag, too restless to sleep. Turning my head to look over at Blair in the dark tent, I can barely see anything of him. Blair is completely fortified against the cold, hat jammed on his head, and his bag zipped up all the way. All that's visible is some hair and his nose. His breathing is soft and slow, a sure sign of sleep.

We needed this vacation after a particularly stressful case. And we're having a really good time. Caught plenty of fish, explored the trails, cleared the air after the fight two days ago, and, best of all, a minimum of sentinel tests to piss me off. This is turning out to be a week of sentinel-guide bonding at its best.

Except it's been four days and I haven't gotten any since the first night we arrived and it's driving me crazy. I'm used to it a couple times a day, at the very least. All this access to Blair and no nookie. What a waste.

Getting beyond the guide's sense range while keeping the guide within the sentinel's sense range is tricky without, say, walls. Particularly since Blair's been glued to my side. Which, admittedly, is normally a good thing. But this is one increasingly frustrated sentinel who's seriously tempted to knock his guide out and jerk off over his unconscious body.

Speaking of unconscious...

Blair _is_ asleep. Hmm. I consider the time honored male tradition of jerking off in the sleeping bag on camping trips. Tradition demands that, if you hear someone doing it, you pretend you're still asleep and then razz him unmercifully about it the next day.

If Blair wakes up, there's no way he could know it was a sentinel special, instead of normal guy stuff.

Yeah. Okay. Let's do it.

I unzip my jeans and push them and my thermals down to my knees. The boxers are staying. No way am I explaining spunk stains on the sleeping bag to the old lady at the dry cleaners. Slipping my hands into my boxers, expertly coaxing my cock into fullness, I remember our first night in camp.

It was nighttime and I was taking a piss in the woods. Back in the camp, Blair was moving around the campfire, frying up the fish we caught, face intent, the firelight flickering over his features, turning his face into something primitive and oddly beautiful. I quietly eased through the dark woods to where I had a clear view of him, leaned back comfortably against a tree trunk, and began leisurely fingering my cock.

The smell of the pines and the campfire and healthy unwashed Blair and the mouth-watering smell of fresh grilled fish titillated me almost as much as the movement of my hands. I felt wild and primal, stalking my unwary mate. I'm bigger and more powerful, and I teased myself with the knowledge that any moment I could reach out and just take him. Any time I wanted.

I freeze. Blair's awake. Blair's heart is racing and his body is stiff. Oh, yeah. Blair knows exactly what I'm doing.

My first instinct is to duck and run, then I remember where we are and I defiantly begin touching myself again. I sniff the air, noticing a teasing scent of something familiar, and grin like a shark in the dark. Pheromones. Oh yeah, Blair's getting turned on. That's good. That's very, very good.

Blair's pheromones make my balls tingle.

I let out a sigh, just loud enough for Blair to hear. Let him think I'm too self-involved here to notice he's awake. Blair's heart skips a beat and thumps even harder. Pheromones pour into the air of the tent.

I sigh again. My right hand continues to rub under the head and my left to work my balls. It's an unexpected treat to be able to lose control a little and let Blair hear my pleasure. My breathing speeds up and I allow the faintest of moans to escape, to the rhythms of my body shifting in the sleeping bag.

Knowing that Blair is listening, performing for Blair, is an incredible turn-on. 'See, Blair, you don't know it but this is what you do to me. This is how good you make me feel. Listen to me. This is for you.'

My mouth hangs open, panting heavily and drinking in Blair's pheromones. Synchronizing my own heartbeats to the thumping of Blair's, I throb in the same frantic rhythm. _Oh shit yeah._

My orgasm rolls towards me in a slow, inevitable wave. I urge it closer with vibration and scent and the sound of Blair's quietly excited breathing. When it hits, it lifts me up, body shivering in rhythms, into a burst of light splintering into sensations and reforming, dropping me back into the dark, the echo of my voice sighing, "Ah-ah-aaaaaaah...", a lust-filled song for Blair.

Silence in the dark. I'm staring at Blair's tight face, waiting like a predator for the prey to feel safe. Waiting for Blair.

Soft, slow breathing of a man asleep. Watching the indecision and lust play on Blair's face. Ten minutes go by.

"Jim?" he whispers in the dark.

My heart skips a beat, but I remain silent. He decides that I've fallen asleep. There's the sound of his zipper being pulled down and the familiar sound of Blair's hand on his cock. I grin in the dark. My nerves are still tingling. My softening cock grows hard again, eager for this.

I performed for Blair. Now Blair performs for me.

I think maybe I'll come this time without even touching myself.

* * *

It's springtime and the air is lousy with pheromones. The birds and animals smell kind of... _interesting_ but wrong. It's the humans that get me--the pretty girls starting to peel off the outer layers and the men watching. Keeping close tabs on Blair, I go crazy again and again until mating season is over.

* * *

It's a cliché and I don't care. Eyes glued to the keyhole, all my senses piggybacking on each other, I watch the extraordinary fucking beauty of Blair in orgasm and climax with him.

* * *

I'm sorting the whites into the washer when I smell something intriguing. Sniffing Blair's shirt and recognizing the smell of his come, I feel my cock twitch. Blair must have picked it up off the floor and wiped himself clean with it afterwards. I carefully set it aside, smiling. You and me, baby, have a date tonight.

 

 **VI. GOING FOR A DRIVE**

Blair's been talking non-stop since he got in the truck. It's a sunny morning and the sound of Blair's deep voice blends with the roar of the engine in a very pleasing way. I'm in a good mood and feeling better every second.

As I pull into the Rainier parking lot, he turns to me. "Thanks, man, for the ride. I'm sorry the Volvo crapped out again, but the mechanic swears he can find a replacement part and fix it in two or three days."

Stroking his shoulder, I reassure him. "Don't worry about it, Chief. I can handle the limousine service for a couple of days. When do you want me to pick you up?"

Blair frowns thoughtfully. "I've got a morning class and a meeting at 11:00. Make it 12:30 to be safe."

"Alright, I'll even spring for lunch before we head back to the station."

"Whoa, I'm gonna have to take advantage of this rare burst of Ellison generosity here. See you later, Jim." Blair smiles warmly at me and slams the door shut, before jogging off to class.

I smile fondly as he veers sharply over to a group of students and greets them enthusiastically. More non-stop chatter. My Blair is a sociable guy.

As I pull out of the parking lot onto the road, I remember why I'm in such a good mood. The truck is filled with enough Blair scent to ground me as I drive to the station. But just in case, I reach back with my right hand and pull up an old sweatshirt Blair left in the truck after basketball last week. His sweat is still sharp and strong and I know it's going to be enough.

Driving with the left hand, I use the right to wrap the arms of the sweatshirt around my neck where the scent will reach me without effort. Then I relax and lean back and sprawl my legs apart. This brings my balls and my perineum into direct contact with the seat and the lovely, wonderful vibrations from the engine.

My cock, which has been half-hard with anticipation since I got in the truck, hardens fully. The vibrations massage my root and travel up through my cock, waking my nerves and setting them singing. Oh, Sweetheart, you are a thing of beauty and a joy forever.

Part of my mind is watching the road, driving very carefully. The other part is smelling Blair and feeling this liquid pleasure surging through my groin. Oh, it's a good day.

I hum along with the engine and moan whenever I feel like it. Blair's not here and the windows are up and no one can hear me. It feels good to be able to make pleasure sounds that I normally stifle.

Rocking back and forth in my seat intensifies the sensation on different parts. Oh yeah... this is good.

Most people know the statistic that a human being is 98 percent water but they don't know what that means to a sentinel. Even Blair doesn't understand this.

Yeah, blood and mucus are obvious. And don't think I don't appreciate all those little sacks of blood sloshing and shaking in my cock right now and keeping me so, so hard. But you go down far enough and cells are nothing but liquid jelly in sacks. Every single cell from top to bottom is shimmying in this dance and I can feel it. The sweet zings from my sex organs to my pleasure center monopolize my attention, but my whole body is humming and flowing and it feels so good, so good. Like I'm all in one piece. Like I'm whole.

I'm not letting myself come. I'm in no hurry to lose this, just wallowing in the intense pleasure. Taking the long way around and enjoying the ride. _Hmmm..._ Sweetheart _baby_.

But eventually all good things come to an end, the station is getting closer and I'm running out of time. Leaning over, I pull some paper napkins out of the glove compartment, scoot down a little and shove them in my pants around my dick. Ahead of me I see the yellow light turn. This is it.

I stop at the red light, engine running, and set the parking brake. Forgot that last time. Savor the vibrations for a couple more seconds, then reach down and squeeze my cock, which just fucking explodes.

My left hand grips the steering wheel with whitened knuckles. My upper torso is rigid and holding still for the people in the cars behind me, but below the waist my pelvis and legs are twisting and jerking and my feet are drumming against the floor with sexual release. I wail through my clenched teeth.

Cars are honking behind me. Apparently the light has turned green. _I don't care... I don't care... ah god... it's not stopping... oh my fucking god... yes!_ The vibration of the engine is prolonging my orgasm to an incredible length. I stuff one of the sweaty cuffs of Blair's sweatshirt in my mouth and frantically tongue it to hold off the zone, to keep riding the sweet feeling.

Cars are pulling around me and honking as they drive past. I glare at the assholes but I'm too busy to give them the finger. Anybody tries to interrupt me now, they're dead meat.

Finally, it passes enough that I can release the parking brake and slowly hit the accelerator. I drive like an old lady, shaky and cautious, but I make it to the parking garage at the station.

I reluctantly turn the key and feel Sweetheart settle into stillness, the heated metal cooling and contracting, the last echoes of sweet vibration fading away. The silence afterwards always jars me in a way I don't quite understand.

I reach into my pants and pull out the dripping napkins, rolling them up, wet side in the center, and put it in my pocket until I get to the men's room. Slowly I climb out, lock the doors, pat Sweetheart on the hood and head for the elevators.

The buzz lasts all morning.

* * *

It's the fourth day of the heatwave. I can feel the slow drops trickle down my back and sides, smell the harshness of my own sweat. Blair's scent trapped in the sweat-soaked boxers is much more enticing. I rock back and forth, pushing my groin into the heavy lukewarm blast of the fan, hissing with pleasure as I run the ice cube past my balls into the hot sweatiness between my legs and back again.

* * *

We're playing a little one-on-one and Blair's jazzed because he's winning. I'm handicapped by the fact that he's got his shirt off and he's gleaming wet in the hot sun. Even his hair's all damp curls. I'm getting my hands all over him, getting them slick with his sweat. God, I love basketball!

* * *

I'm lying out on the balcony, robe open to the night air, listening to the sound of Blair's snoring blend with the rhythm of the rain. Cool, fat drops of water hit me everywhere and burst, sending shivers of delight through me. One huge drop lands hard on my cockhead, _splat!_ , and I come, fountaining white heat up into the air.

 

 **VII. THE WEEKEND**

"Okay, Jim. I think I've got everything. You've got my number, right? It's only gonna be for two days. Back by Sunday night, promise. Call me if anything weird happens with your senses. Call Simon if necessary, do not try to fly solo if you're spiking or anything. Oh, shit, do I have my phone?" Blair drops his backpack and darts back into his room, where I can hear him muttering and shoving stuff aside. "Got it!" He crows triumphantly and comes out waving the cell phone. I watch him fondly as he crouches down and crams it into his overstuffed pack. He stands up, swings the pack over his shoulder, and looks at me, smiling. His energy is high. He's looking forward to the weekend. So am I.

"Take care of yourself, kid. Don't go getting Sharon and yourself kidnapped, okay? No international terrorists, assassins, mobsters, murderers or drug lords. Remember you're there to have a _good_ time." I leer at him and waggle my eyebrows. He grins and whaps me on the shoulder. I pull him in for a quick hug and shove him towards the door. "Get going, Chief. Before Sharon comes to her senses."

"Bye, Jim!" And there he goes. I follow the sound of his footsteps and his heartbeat down the stairs, out of the building and into his car. I trace the car for about twelve blocks before I pull back. The apartment is silent without the continual symphony of Blair's presence. I'm going to miss him. On the other hand, I have the loft to myself for two days. I survey my kingdom with deep satisfaction. Mine, all mine.

I check out the fridge and make a shopping list. Once I get back, I'm not leaving the loft unless I have to. Grinning, I write down all the forbidden foods per Sandburg edict. Ah, the joys of temporary bachelorhood.

At the grocery store, I stock up on beer, a variety of chips and pretzels, fixings for chili, frozen chicken wings, a pound of roast beef, actual white bread. I'm looking at the cart and I realize I'm eating poker night snacks for the next two days. The stuff Blair won't let me eat anymore. I stop at the bakery and pick up a cheesecake and a dozen buttermilk donuts. Blair's coming back to find me in a cholesterol zone. But I died happy. One last stop at the video store and I'm done.

Putting away the groceries and shoving back the healthy food Blair's left me for the weekend, I'm touched by Blair's thoughtfulness. He may be a health tyrant most of the time, but he cares.

Oh, what the hell. I'm going to have time in between things this weekend. It'll be nice to do something for Blair.

I run out to the lumberyard and pick up some oak for a project I've been thinking of for a while. Blair's got a big music collection, more than will fit in with my stuff in the living room. I'm thinking a storage cabinet with space designed for his cds, his cassettes, and his vinyl. Imagining Blair's delighted face when he sees it gives me a warm feeling. I stash the wood by the balcony doors for later.

Checking my watch, I estimate Blair's been gone for two and a half hours. I decide to wait for another hour just in case. I don't want Blair showing up because he's forgotten something or the car's broken down close enough to Cascade that it was easier to hitch back than continue on to Sharon's.

One masterpiece creation of a roast beef sandwich plate with chips and beer later, I am chowing down and watching one of my videos. I'm not especially into gay porn, but this one actor looks a little bit like Blair. His eyes are the wrong color and his hair's short, but some of his facial structure and lines of his body are close. His voice is a little similar too, which makes me grin every time he utters one of those porn classics. Blair would let his toenails be ripped out before he ever said anything like that. ‘Man, that is so cheesy. My dates would dump me on my ass for being such a pig.’

The hour passes pleasantly. Finally. I rewind the tape and drop my plate in the sink for washing up later.

Standing in Blair's doorway, I slowly look around. Blair's room is comfortable and cluttered. I used to think Blair was a slob until I realized that he just had too much stuff and not enough space to organize it. But, in general, he keeps the room fairly clean underneath the mess.

I circle the room leisurely, running my fingers over the surfaces. Touching Blair's collection of native pots and baskets, the papers on his desk, the art on the walls, Blair's books. I hesitate for a moment over Blair's journals. Reading Blair's private thoughts makes me feel closer to him. Maybe later.

I end up at Blair's nightstand and open the drawer. Hello... new stuff. Blair, you dog. I pull out the vibrator and sniff it. It's been cleaned but I can smell a woman on it. Blair hasn't used it on himself yet. I set the vibrator and the massage oil on the nightstand and close the drawer.

Reaching down under the bed, I pull out Blair's porn stash. There are a couple of girlie magazines, which Blair recycles pretty frequently. His favorite stuff is in the books underneath. A book of tasteful black and white nudes by a famous photographer, the Kama Sutra and the unexpurgated version of Arabian Nights, translated by Sir Richard Burton. Blair, Blair, you are so overeducated.

I flip through the book of photography, stopping to look at the pages Blair's lingered over. There are a couple women Blair finds particularly attractive, but I stop at one photograph of a man that has some of Blair's scent on it. The angle is from behind, showing the guy's muscular back. Wistfully, I wonder if Blair sees any resemblance to me.

Blair's real interest is in the Arabian Nights book. Guess he's more of a word than a picture kind of guy. His scent is on all the pages. Blair has spent many a happy hour with this book. Later on, I'll read one of his favorites, sniffing the pages and imagining Blair reading it and touching himself. But not now. I close the books and put them back under the bed.

Laying my head on Blair's pillow, I take in the heady concentration of Blair's scent. Suddenly I growl. No more waiting. Now.

I stand up and tear off my clothes with trembling fingers. I'm so hard. Eagerly, I crawl into Blair's bed. Pulling the covers over my head, I am surrounded by a warm cocoon of overwhelming Blair smell. I spread out my arms and legs, rolling and rubbing myself against the sheets, covering myself all over with his scent. I won't shower until the last hour, wearing Blair on me all weekend.

My breathing's getting excited and my cock is leaking. I lean over the bed and snag one of Blair's flannel shirts off the floor. Slowly, I rub the soft material all over my body, teasing myself with the sensation and the knowledge that this has been next to Blair's skin. Concentrating on my groin, I run the flannel from the back of my balls up along the shaft to my head and back down again. The flannel is ticklish against my heated flesh. It feels so good. I groan and turn my head, mouthing at the pillow.

I'm too excited to tease myself long. Throwing the shirt back on the floor, I reach for the vibrator and the oil. Hissing with pleasure, I smooth the oil onto my cock, my balls, down my perineum and past my crack to my asshole. Do you know how many nerve endings are down there? A very happy discovery.

Flicking on the vibrator, I touch it to the spot where the shaft meets the head. _Oh FUCK! That's good!_ Pull down the dial to keep from coming right then and there. I think I screamed. That's not good. Don't want the neighbors calling 911.

Jamming the pillow over my mouth has the added advantage of smothering me in Blair's scent, grounding me against zoning from the intensity of the vibrator. Bringing up the dial again, I begin running the vibrator over myself, searching out the sweet spots and lingering. I am shaking and sobbing into the pillow. _This is too good... oh god it's good._

I hurriedly bring up my knees, exposing my ass, and push the vibrator up against my asshole, pressing in just a little to reach more nerve endings. Then I raise the dial as high as I can stand it. Lightning runs up my spine and my hips pump helplessly as the most incredible pleasure pours from my ass to my cock. I grunt frantically into the pillow as I start coming... _I'm coming... I'm coming... Oh god please don't... please don't let me drop the vibrator... please don't let me lose this... oh god still coming... oh... uh... uh... uhhh..._

No idea how long it lasts, but slowly I start coming down, still twitching, completely sated. I reach down to where the buzzing vibrator fell when my hand cramped and turn it off. Sleepily, I roll over onto my stomach, letting my come rub into Blair's sheets, enjoying the combined smell of me and Blair.

I'm going to take a nap now. When I wake up, I'll break into the donuts, watch some afternoon sports, and then... Well, I figure I've got at least 34 more hours to kill before Blair comes home.

* * *

We're arguing about possible motives on the Magnusson case and I lean over and 'accidentally' pick up Blair's bottle. I circle my tongue around the opening. The taste of his mouth turns ordinary spring water into a gourmet treat.

* * *

Christmas is coming up. Fingering the butter-soft leather jacket, I imagine touching Blair's back as we move through an outdoor crime scene, leather-scented Blair grounding me and keeping me safe. "I'll take this one," I tell the salesclerk. I'm the Sentinel; I have a right to make sure my Guide is warm.

* * *

Downstairs, Blair's trying to talk his current girl into letting him come over tonight even though it's late. He lowers his voice, deep, sexy and persuasive. It feels like dark honey pouring into my ears and I shiver with joy, pulling out my cock, hoping that Isabel's going to keep Blair begging a really long time.

 

 **VIII. THE ANNIVERSARY**

It's our two-year anniversary and I wanted to do something special with Blair.

Which is why I'm here in this cab that's taking us home, with Blair sprawled all over me. I'm drunk, but Blair's drunker. He matched me drink for drink and he's a smaller guy.

Blair's an affectionate drunk, loud and happy. He's lost motor coordination but his mouth's still going a mile a minute. I have to grin at the little guy. Typical Sandburg.

He's got a death-grip on my neck that he thinks is a friendly hug and he's staring earnestly up into my face from way too close. Not that I really mind, but if we were sober it would be too close for two straight guys. I've got smell dialed way down as he breathes into my face.

"S'real good time tonight, Jim. Wasn't Orvelle great tonight? Man, the Jags won. They won, man! Yeah, good time. Those were the best seats, man. Could see everything. Yeah! Thanks for taking me, Jim. You didn't have to do that. Could've taken Simon. You're my best friend, Jim. Did you know that? Jim..."

We're grinning goofily at each other. Blair's eyes are shining with drunken affection and I feel warmth spread through me as I realize once again how precious Blair is to me. How lucky I am.

I clear my throat. "Yeah, Blair. Best friends forever, right?" God, I'm turning into a teenage girl here. Before I do something stupid like kiss him, I bring up my arm and give him a noogie. He pushes me away and falls back against the seat.

"Aw, man. No, no, no. No more noogies. Game's over, man. Jags won. Don't wan' more noogies..."

That was my special entertainment during the game. Every time the Jags scored, Blair bouncing up and down in his seat yelling, I'd reach over and give him a noogie. For good luck, I told him. He'd bat my hand away and complain and grin and turn back to the game. I'd sit there feeling the phantom touch of Blair's hair on my hand and remind myself to be patient. Getting lucky tonight. Wait for it.

I had to keep reminding myself all through dinner. After the game, I dragged Blair to Angus Steakhouse. Told him it was to celebrate those courtside seats that I had to promise my first born to get. I urged Blair to get anything he wanted and I started ordering the drinks.

The lighting in the restaurant was what they call "intimate," which really means saving on electricity, and they had candles on the table. We ate our steaks and I watched the highlights flickering in Blair's hair and listened to the sound of his voice, grunting agreement around mouthfuls of steak whenever he stopped to take a breath.

"Know what's bothering me, Jim, huh? Oof..." The cab takes a corner too sharply and Blair falls against me. "Sorry, man. What's really bothering me... those roses, man. Two dozen roses. I asked and asked and asked. Can't find out who sent 'em. Somewhere out there's a woman dying of passion for me and I don't know who she is. Sucks, man. Hey, Jim, are you giggling? Why're you giggling, man? Hey, are you laughing at me?"

"I am not giggling," I assure Blair solemnly, then spoil it by chuckling again. "And I'm always laughing at you, Sport."

I wasn't really thinking about it too much the first year. Looked at the calendar and went, 'Huh, tomorrow's our anniversary.' Not that we could celebrate it or anything. On an impulse, I called a flower shop and had a dozen roses sent over to Blair's office with a card that just said, 'Thank you.'

It drove Blair nuts for days trying to figure out who sent the roses. None of his dates would admit to it. I remember calling him Romeo and begging him to stop when he lectured me about the history and meaning of red roses. Passionate Love, he told me. No kidding.

It was nice looking at Blair's happy face, pleased that someone liked him enough to send roses and I thought, I've got to do this again next year.

So this year I sent two dozen red roses with a card saying, 'You fulfill my every passion.' Blair _really_ wanted to know who sent him those roses. Poor Blair. Doomed to have a secret admirer. The thought pleases me.

The cab pulls up at our place and I pay the driver. Now I get to haul Blair out of the cab and put him to bed. Not that that's any hardship. Swaying a little myself, I maneuver Blair through the building, up to the loft, and into his bedroom.

"Good time tonight, Jim." Blair solemnly tells me for the fifteenth time, as I pull off his clothes. I'm taking the opportunity to cop a feel while Blair's awake but too blitzed to notice.

I smile down at him. "Real good time, Chief." I pull the blankets over him and sit with him, listening to his sleepy babbling and stroking his hair. Finally, he gives one last dopey smile and falls asleep. God, he's adorable.

I go to the kitchen and get a pair of scissors and tape. Smiling fondly at Blair, I run my fingers through all the strands and textures of his hair, finally choosing a lock in the back near his neck where the hair is almost downy fine. I stroke it with one finger and shiver, already hard with anticipation. Gently pulling it straight out, I cut it off and wrap a piece of tape on the cut end to hold it together. Blair won't even notice it's missing.

I lean forward and kiss Blair's mouth, ignoring his boozy breath. I whisper to my sleeping lover, "Love you, Blair. Thanks for another wonderful year."

Then I go upstairs with my prize and the night proceeds to get even better.

I am pleased to discover that I am not too drunk to fold my clothes. I lie down on the bed naked and lean over the other side to pull up my toy box. Inside are things I've collected over the past two years: feathers, fur mitten, silk scarf, bottle of the massage oil Blair uses, vibrator, tape of Blair's lecture notes when I want to get off on his voice. I'm constantly adding and discarding as I learn more about my senses.

I pull Blair's photo out of its plastic sleeve. It's tucked behind a nudie picture of Carolyn that she gave me when we were getting serious. Blair's a curious guy and I wouldn't put it past him to find my toy box when he's pulling the sheets off the bed on laundry day. The photo I use is one H snapped at a beach barbecue organized by Major Crimes. Blair's playing volleyball. He's just spiked the ball and knows he's scored. He's still up in the air, hair flying, his face grimacing with effort and triumph. The expression on his face is pretty damn close to how he looks when he comes.

I trace the lines of his face and his bare torso. Pretty Blair. I prop the photo on the pillow next to me where I'll be able to see it.

I look into the toy box again and decide I'll stick with the basics. I'm feeling sentimental since it _is_ our anniversary. The lock of Blair's hair is all I want tonight.

Reluctantly, I decide that I'm going to need the gag. I use it whenever my control's not 100 percent and I'm not sure I can keep silent. I started using it in the early days after the time Blair scared the shit out of me, storming up the stairs as I was coming. I barely got under the covers in time. Fortunately, Blair interpreted the moans and shakiness as nightmare-induced. He stayed by my side, soothing me with words and touch until I stopped trembling and lay there, sleepy and sated. He got a glass of water and held it for me while I drank, then patted me on the shoulder and told me to sleep well.

It was... really nice. Blair's a nice guy. That was the first time I realized how much I wished that I didn't have to hide this from him. Wondered how it would be to have Blair doing these things with me. Started wanting that.

I shake my head. Enough of that. This is our anniversary and I'm not going to spoil it with wishful thinking. I tie the gag firmly and lie down, reaching out for my guide's heartbeat and anchoring myself to it.

I've kept the touch dial low all evening, so I inhale sharply with the increased sensation as I bring the dial up and up. Where there was almost a blank in my senses, now I can feel all the sensations that go on in a human body. It's like the city in a way, busy busy all the time, everything moving, everything noisy. I take a moment to adjust and then focus in on my groin, moaning into my gag at the feel of my erection, throbbing and hungry.

I turn my head and stare into Blair's eyes, as I hold the lock of hair under my nose and pull in Blair's scent. Beginning to tease myself, I run the tip of it over my face, my eyelids, the curves of my ear, along my jaw, down my neck. The sensation is beyond ticklish, piercing and sweet, tensing my body, my heart thumping wildly in my chest, pumping the blood faster and faster through my body until every inch is throbbing. I shiver and moan with how good, how good it is.

My cock is calling for it, demanding its turn. Oh no, not yet. Not for a long time. With Blair's heartbeat pounding in my ears, I continue teasing my body, agonizingly slow. Feather light touches, strokes, swirling over my skin, teasing out the sweet spots.

The richest spots are my armpits and the soles of my feet. I spend a long, long time on each, sobbing and mewling into the gag. My whole body is squirming under the intensity. I don't let myself come, bringing the dials down again and again to stop it.

I love... God, I love my sentinel brain. You can only feel what your brain can process. When the limit of pleasure is reached, your brain's forced to flip over and interpret it as pain. (See, sometimes I do listen to Blair's lectures.) But as a sentinel, my limit is so far beyond a normal human's that there are no words to describe the sheer level of pleasure I reach before I hit my pain threshold. Right now I am riding my edge, the ecstasy so exquisite that even orgasm can't be more pleasurable, only different. My body is flailing on the bed, my eyes rolling back into my skull. Riding the edge. Sweet, sweet edge.

Finally I realize that I've exhausted myself and reluctantly stop. I slip the gag out of my mouth and gasp for breath, my limbs lying completely limp. My muscles are going to be sore tomorrow. Who cares? Right now, I'm flying. My body feels like it's expanding and contracting and I'm soaring on the endless waves of it. I feel clean, stripped of all fear and anger. Tears of joy are leaking down the sides of my face. I'm so happy.

I hear Blair roll over and I want to crawl downstairs and into his bed, pull him into my arms and slobber my gratitude all over his body. All this comes from Blair. Sweet, sweet Blair. I wish I could make you feel half as good as you make me feel. Thank you, Blair. Happy anniversary, Chief.

I'm tired and want to go to sleep. But I can't yet. Even though I feel sated with sensation, there's still the underlying urgency of my cock. I've been hard so long, I know I need the complete tension release of orgasm to get to sleep.

With a tired grunt, I heave myself over and grab the toy box. I slip Blair's photo back behind Carolyn's, my fingers thick and clumsy. Kissing Blair's hair, I carefully roll it up following the natural curl and place it in the box. Then I pull out the oil, pour some on my palm, cap it and drop it back in. Close the box and shove it under the bed.

I fall back on the bed and pull the covers over my legs. Work the gag back over my mouth and I'm ready. Rubbing the oil on myself, moaning as my cock wakes up and realizes it's finally getting what it's begged for all night.

This is the first time I've touched my cock tonight. I teased it unmercifully. Touched everywhere else--my balls, the crease of my thighs, up and down my perineum and around my asshole--but not my straining, leaking cock, bobbing in the air as I moved all around it. Making this last. Refusing orgasm.

But now... Oh God, I'm touching it now. The oil makes my hand a warm, slippery hole for fucking. The herbal scent of the oil teases my nose, bringing the memory of all the times Blair has run his hands over my body making me feel good. I lose myself in a fantasy that Blair is giving me a massage and telling me to roll over so he can do my front. When he sees my erection, he just smiles and puts his oil-slicked hands there and keeps on massaging me. _Oh yeah Blair... touch me... please touch me just like that._ I beg Blair shamelessly, twisting like a slut into the warmth of his hands, and Blair tells me I'm beautiful and gives me everything I ask for.

I am too tired for urgency now and move slower against my hand. The throbbing of my cock turns deep and slow, pleasure rising rich and dark, so seamlessly that I can't tell the moment it moves into orgasm, except for the sweet pulsing in my cock and the wetness on my chest. My hand slips down and I barely have time to pull the covers up before I slide over into the dark welcome of sleep.

* * *

I wind the feather boa around my cock, shivering at the touch of softest down, sweeter even than Blair's hair lying spread out on his pillow downstairs. One long steady pull and the boa slides sinuously around and around my cock until I explode, fist jammed in my mouth, mewling with pleasure.

* * *

I don't think Blair's stopped talking for more than thirty seconds tonight. I'm only half listening to him, watching him in the light of the street lamps, imagining that constantly moving mouth on my cock, making a boring stakeout much more interesting. Finally, I can't stand it anymore. "Gotta make a pitstop, Chief," I say, sliding out of the car and moving into the dark of the alley to take care of business.

 

 **IX. HER GORGEOUS HAIR**

Her thighs clench around my ears and her moans are getting louder. I've found her sweet spot and press harder with my tongue. My face is wet and sticky from her juices. She tastes good.

"Oh, Jim. Right there, right there."

Her voice deepens and turns guttural, her moans changing almost into grunts. I hear her head thrashing around on her pillow. Oh, yeah, we're almost there. I flick my tongue faster, a steady rhythmic pressure against her tiny, throbbing clit. I can feel the outline under the hood, clit shaped like a miniature penis. It's very hard and eager right now, nerves sparking all over it. For a second, I dial in closer until the clit feels huge and I wonder if this is what Blair's cock would feel like in my mouth. The image excites me.

Then she stiffens and I feel her orgasm begin, first in the pulsing in her clit and cunt, spreading out to the jerking of her hips. Tightening my grip, not letting her buck away from my mouth at the wrong time, I want this to be good for her.

I ride her orgasm with her. Normally, I'll soften my tongue and continue to lave the clit to prolong and deepen the aftershocks and bring her to a slow, sweet finish. But this time, I stop after the first heavy pulses begin to slow. I want her still aroused, slightly unsatisfied, eager for my cock.

I move up her body. She wraps her arms around me, as I kiss her softly, then more urgently. She smiles at me, pulls her legs up and opens herself to me. I hiss as I push inside her hot, still pulsing cunt. Shit yeah... this is nice.

I brush a curl out of her face and bury my hands in her beautiful hair. My eyes are hooded and predatory and I smile a little to soften them. She smiles back and shivers with delight. She likes my caveman look.

Our eyes locked, I begin to piston in and out of her. Watching her eyes, her face, her body language, I adjust my angle and speed to please her. I am going to make her come again, the third time tonight, and she knows it. She catches her breath in anticipation and rocks up harder against me.

My cock is hard steel. I've spun the dials carefully tonight, moving from zero to keep from coming, up to a little higher than usual to keep interested. I can go on for hours like this. For a moment, I debate coming. Dial up quick to an eight or nine and have a perfectly pleasant orgasm. I do it half the time during sex anyway, since it's important to seem normal. But tonight I'm feeling greedy and I want the real thing.

She's starting to pant and her eyes focus inward as the sensations build. It would be easy enough to bring her off like this, but I want to exhaust her. I clutch her and roll us both over until I'm on my back and she's above me.

She whines in protest. "Jim, I'm too tired to do this."

Smiling up at her, I coax her into moving. "C'mon, honey, it'll be good. I promise." I thrust up hard into her and roll her clit with my thumb. She moans and begins to rock on top of me. I run the other hand up and down her torso, cupping her sweet little breasts, flicking her nipples. She's getting enthusiastic, too excited to drag her ass. She braces her hands on my chest and rides me hard as I keep working her clit.

She drops her head and her curls hang down covering her face. God, I love her hair. The chestnut highlights, the bounce, the smell of it. I'm so fucking excited that my dials slip up. I grunt with pleasure and pump harder.

She's moaning and shaking her head from side to side. She's coming and her inner muscles are clenching and massaging my cock. It feels great and I let myself enjoy it for a few more seconds before wrenching the dials down to zero to keep from coming.

Suddenly, I've got 120 pounds of limp woman collapsed on my chest. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry," she whimpers, looking up at me with puppy dog eyes. The wrong color eyes. "I'm so tired and you haven't come yet."

I smile and kiss her nose. "Don't worry, honey," I reassure her. "I'll take care of it." Lifting her up and laying her down on her stomach, I stroke her hair, her back, soothing and gentling her. She murmurs happily, sleepily, and drifts into stillness.

My turn.

I settle on top of her and nuzzle her hair. Her gorgeous hair.

She's not my usual type. Pretty but not spectacular. Average height. Too young for me, more Blair's age. Nice girl.

We met at the health food store. I'd gone in with a list of items for Blair, who was home with a bad cold, and was scratching my head trying to find some of this stuff. An employee offered to help me. I turned to look at her and froze.

Her hair looked exactly like Blair's. Even better, it smelled the same. She uses the same brand of shampoo and conditioner. Hell, I bet Blair buys it there. Otherwise, she doesn't resemble him at all, thank God. That would be weird enough for people to notice. I would have had to pass her up.

I followed her around the store, sniffing her hair, determined not to get a hard-on. She was friendly, flirting with me and collecting the weird food with brisk efficiency.

"Well, there you go, Jim. All done." She looked up at me cheerfully.

"Yeah, thanks a lot, Heather. I'd never have found all this stuff on my own." I smiled down on her. "So... can I buy you a cup of coffee some time?" I suddenly remembered where we were. "...or a glass of wheat grass juice or something?"

She laughed and we had a date. We've been seeing each other for about five weeks and I think I'm holding her interest, or at least her libido. I know I'm the best lover she's ever had. Sentinel senses have to be good for something.

I smile in the dark. Sentinel senses are definitely good for something.

I shift up onto my elbows to keep from crushing her and enter her from behind, kissing her neck and then forgetting her. This is for me.

I begin pumping slowly, breathing in the smell of Blair's hair, revving myself up. Someday I'm going to try anal sex. See what it feels like. The idea of fucking Blair, the tight muscles of his asshole stripping my cock, tearing the orgasm out of me, makes me whimper and mouth his hair.

Raising the dials, I start speeding up the action. The hot wetness and sweet ridges inside feel fantastic on my cock. I bring up my right wrist where an old woven bracelet of Blair's rests.

I found it under the sofa, the tie broken. Blair searched for it for days. It was a gift from his first college girlfriend and he wore it for almost ten years. His scent and taste are ground into the fibers permanently and I knew the second I found it that Blair wasn't getting it back. I store it in a seal-tight container to keep it fresh and only bring it out when Blair isn't close enough to ground me.

I sniff it now and lick it, letting old molecules of Blair burst on my tongue. My hips begin to snap harder, driving my dials up and up. I bury my face in Blair's hair and proceed to fuck him like an animal.

I'm lost to myself, in rut, pounding myself over and over into my lover, my guide, my Blair. Moaning in joy, I drive myself to completion, pouring my love and juices into Blair, giving it all up to him. Caught in the safe harbor of his body, I am free to let my senses expand into ultimate pleasure. I throw back my head, grimacing, grunting as my cock spurts and throbs. _Oh Blair... you feel so fucking fucking good baby so right... fuck... oh fuck yeah._

Panting, I hold myself up to keep from collapsing on the warm body beneath me. Waves of aftershock shiver through me. I hum with satisfaction and contentment, milking the last sensations with small thrusts of my cock.

Heather stirs for a moment, murmurs, "Sounds like that was a good one." Chuckling, I kiss her good-night. I _like_ this girl.

I pull out and settle next to her, one arm flung over her, trying to think of some memory, some "intimacy" I can offer her tomorrow to bring her closer. I'd really like to keep this one for a while.

* * *

Whimpering, I wrench the dial down to zero again and distract myself with Blair's heartbeat. I'm so hard I could punch holes through steel. When it's safe, I raise the dial, feeling the slow, delicious pull of my oiled fist. It's been at least an hour now, and I'll keep it up for another before I finally let myself come.

* * *

"You have a problem with Sandburg, you have a problem with me!" My eyes are cold as I look Reynolds over, planning how to take this guy out. His partner takes one look at me and pulls Reynolds away, apologizing for both of them. "Jesus, Harry!" he hisses when they're halfway down the hall. "Don't _fuck_ with Ellison. He'll kill you!"

 

 **X. TAKING A LEAK**

I'm feeling pretty pissed. Everybody in Major Crimes has sense enough to stay away from me right now.

Blair's flirting with one of the girls from Records who just dropped off a file I requested. Their pupils are dilated, their skin flushed, and pheromones are wafting all over the place. The only reason their clothes are still on is because they're standing in the middle of the squad room, not three feet away from me.

I don't want to be jealous. I can't really blame Blair. After all the pleasure he gives me, he deserves a little of his own. Really. Knock yourself out, Buddy.

I just don't want to see it. Reminding me that someday Blair's going to find someone. Someone who isn't me. And I'm a little afraid of what I might do on that day. Because I can't let him go.

He's mine. He knows that, I think. His loyalty and patience and eagerness to please are pretty obvious. I think he's even got a crush on me. If he wasn't straight, that would be so useful. But he is, so we'll keep playing the hand we were dealt.

I've got my dick dialed down to zero and I still feel the pressure of Blair's pheromones singing in my blood. The girl leans forward and brushes a curl out of Blair's face and Blair grins goofily at her.

I fantasize about flinging her away, yelling "Mine!" at the top of my voice. Then ripping Blair's clothes off and spraying my spunk all over him, while my fellow cops gasp and stare and hold case files over their hard-ons.

That puts me in a slightly better mood and I decide I need to take care of this. Anchoring onto the sound of Blair's voice, I spread out my hearing and check for heartbeats. Good. No one's in there.

I stand up. "I'll be back in a minute, Chief."

Blair waves me away and tells me to take all the time I want. Gee, thanks, Sandburg.

As I walk away, I start dialing touch up a little at a time. The rhythmic movement of my slacks over my crotch rubs me and my cock begins to fill. I push open the door and walk into the men's room.

Moving over to a urinal, I unzip my pants, taking out my cock, half hard but still soft enough to piss. I take a moment to check my anchor on Blair--he's still verbally seducing the girl but the tones of his voice work on me too--and push my hearing out to give me plenty of warning if someone decides to take a leak.

Bracing my other hand against the wall, I take my stance. Then I raise my touch dials and start to piss. "Aaaaah!" Nothing feels as good as a piss when you need one.

The pressure of the urine is moving and pressing against my urethra. It's a different sensation from coming, but urgent and pleasing in its own way. The feeling meets aroused nerves already over-stimulated by Blair's pheromones and Zing! the two cross over into each other and meld and suddenly pissing is pure sex.

Nerves are firing like rockets and my cock is happy. I'm looking for a quicky here and there's no reason to hold back. The stream of piss is massaging the inside of my cock, a fierce, tickling pleasure, and I've got my forefinger rubbing tiny circles under my cockhead. _Oh yeah... come on... come on._

Joel stand ups. His bladder's getting a little weak. It doesn't matter. By the time he gets here, it'll be all over.

My balls contracts-- _Yesss!_ \--and come spurts out mixed with the piss splattering the urinal. I imagine I'm coming and pissing on Blair and it's dripping through his chest hair. Fierce possession surges through me and heightens my orgasm. I'm still in control of my stance, but even so my hips buck, shivering with pleasure. _Oh god yes!_

I relax my muscles and sigh in contentment, tucking my spent cock away. As I head over to wash my hands, Joel comes in. We nod.

I'm not really worried about the girl anymore. I know what to do now.

* * *

Blair's working on his laptop, papers spread all over the table, and I'm staring out the balcony windows. The blonde two blocks away never draws the curtains, thinking she's too far away for anyone to see into her windows. She's entertaining her current boyfriend and I zero in on their groins, excited, as I watch his cock pumping away at her moist cunt, imagining I can almost smell their musk.

* * *

The bullet ricochets too closely and we both flinch. Grimly, I press Blair harder against the cliff face and cover him with my body. Simon better get here soon. My cock is starting to notice Blair's fine ass pressed against it. Later, I tell it, later when it's safe.

* * *

I'm driving down Glazer Avenue at night, staring at the neon-bright gay bars and the dark alleys filled with shadowy figures. I imagine pressing Blair against the brick wall, hearing the gasps pushed out of him as I fuck him hard, one fist in his hair, the other clamped on his cock, stroking him until he's _got_ to come. The two of us lost in the dark among all the others frantically searching for their pleasure.

 

 **XI. CLEAN LAUNDRY**

I'm doing the laundry. I've taken it over after Sandburg managed to ruin a set of my white sheets when some of his new dark socks got in the same load. He swears he doesn't know how that happened. I do. I needed a reason to do all the laundry from now on.

The first load's in the dryer and the second load's about to enter the spin cycle.

I pick up one of Sandburg's dirty T-shirts and sniff. It doesn't smell right and I'm not sure why. Dropping it back into the laundry hamper, I pick up another one. Yeah, this one smells good. I hold it up to my face, nostrils flaring with enjoyment.

The spin cycle starts, noisy enough I have to filter it out, so that I can still hear anyone coming down the stairs. It's shaking so hard it always looks like it's going to shake itself across the floor, but it doesn't.

The vibrations are a little too rough for me, so I always start with my pants on as a buffer. That way I can figure out where to hold the dials. I spread my legs apart to lower my groin area to the right level and press against the washing machine. _Oo-oo-oo-oh, ye-ee-ea-ah!_ The vibrations shiver through me so hard I can feel my teeth clatter against each other. It almost hurts. Nothing at all like Sweetheart's purring. I dial down another notch. This is important. This is for Blair.

I rub my face in Blair's T-shirt, inhaling the odors of his body, his skin, his sweat. I begin undulating against the machine. My cock is already hard from the vibrations. I press and lift, press and lift, finding the rhythm that lets this be pleasurable.

 _Oh god please please please..._ The vibrations are extreme and shake my whole body. If I wanted to, I could trace each wave as it passes through my cells, to my core and out my extremities. It's too intense. I crush the T-shirt to my mouth, inhaling heavy gulps of Blair scent to keep my control. I dial down again.

Unzipping my pants, I pull my cock out of my boxers. I touch my bare flesh to the washer and whimper into the T-shirt. Pull the dial down again. _Too much... too much... pleasure pain... pleasure pain... oh thank god I'm coming._

I fling the T-shirt down onto the washer, grab the sides of the machine with both hands and shoot my load all over Blair's shirt, catching every drop. That's important.

I barely keep myself from collapsing onto the shirt, gasping with relief that it's over, the spin cycle slowing down, the vibrations rippling slower and slower until they leave my body. If the washer wasn't so effective at ripping out every last drop of come, I would do this some other way. Well, no point in worrying about something that needs to be done.

The dryer buzzes and I pull out the clean dry clothes, separating them into Blair's and mine. Mine get folded immediately and set aside. Then it's Blair's turn.

I carefully take each item of clothing and dab a drop of come on it in some hidden place. Mostly the back hem on the shirts and the center inseam on the pants. I even do his socks. Rub the come in until it disappears to normal senses. But it's still there. I can smell it. I carefully fold each piece with fierce satisfaction and put it in the laundry basket.

Blair can't smell it consciously. Nor can most other people. But the primitive part of their brain can. Blair lives and moves in a cloud of my scent markings. He is claimed. And all those women thronging around him sense, on some level, that they can only borrow him. He will always return to me.

He is _Mine_.

* * *

Blair's watching some documentary on TV and I stare at the back of his head, tracing the shine of blue light along his curls. I'm pretending to do the bills, while my hands are quietly busy under the table.

* * *

I suck in huge gulps of Blair's crotch-scented boxers, as I rock into the warm, liquid mouth of the nameless man in the alley behind the bar. "More," I grunt, grabbing his hair and pulling him closer. "C'mon, give me more."

* * *

Blair's mouth is hot and hungry on my cock, tongue swirling around the head, sucking eagerly. He's so fucking beautiful. _Oh god Blair... yes... yes... suck me harder!_ I shoot into his mouth, triumphant and tender, as he swallows me down. I almost cry as I wake up and realize it was just a dream.

 

 **XII. THE HOSPITAL AT NIGHT**

"Why don't you take a break, Jim? Go home, eat something, take a shower. You can come back in a few hours. I'll stay until you get back."

I look up gratefully at Simon, but shake my head. "No, I'm going to stay here tonight. Maybe in the morning."

Simon looks like he wants to argue but knows it's not going to do any good. He settles for scowling and patting my shoulder. I'm touched but relieved when he's gone. I can't focus on anything but Blair now.

Blair. Lying so still and pale in the hospital bed. Tubes stuck down his throat and up his cock. Blood and medications dripping into his arm. Sensors taped to his body. The smell of blood and adrenaline and fear still floating in a cloud around him.

God, Blair. You shouldn't have done it. It was my job, not yours. You have to stay safe, so that no matter what I have to do, no matter how it hurts, I know I'm coming home to you.

Don't you know that?

I'm holding Blair's hand, the one that doesn't have needles and tubing stuck in it. My fingers trace the familiar contours. This hand has touched me, checked my temperature, cooked meals for me, typed my police reports, brought me out of zones, tickled me, held on to me when I would have fallen, decked me once or twice during arguments, cleaned wounds and bandaged me, held a gun to protect me.... Oh, Blair.

I feel my eyes prickling with heat and shut them to stop tears from forming. Bending down, I press a kiss on this hand. I lay my head down on the bed against Blair's hip, holding his hand to my nose, soothing myself with the scent of his skin.

I sit like that a long time, listening to the hospital grow quiet. The late night shift starts and the hospital routines slow down. The halls are empty except for nurses doing their two-hour patient checks. If anyone were to come into this room I would know it immediately.

I am half-asleep, drained by worry and fear for my guide, drifting in a dream-like state where nothing needs to make sense.

I reach out my tongue and lick Blair's knuckles. Underneath the hospital tastes, I taste Blair. Filtering out the unpleasant sensations, I concentrate on licking around his fingers and palm.

I open my eyes and look at Blair's hand. Slowly, I bend his fingers under his palm until only his middle finger is straight. In my exhausted state, I think this is funny. Hey, Blair, you're giving me the finger! Heh heh.

I close my eyes, suck Blair's finger into my mouth, and feel all my tense muscles relax. I feel warm and safe. Only one small wary part stands aside and guards against intruders. The rest of me lies here with my Blair.

Ancient instincts rise in me and I begin to suck on Blair's finger. Part of me wants to pretend I'm sucking Blair's cock and a thrill runs through me. But if I'm honest, I know I'm remembering suckling at my mother's breast and how safe and cherished I felt then. But it's Blair's finger I'm suckling at and Blair who nourishes me and Blair who holds me safe. Blair's the one I want.

Sucking harder, my mouth works like a baby at the nipple, creating that special suction. I feel like I am sucking at the heart of Blair. I know he loves me. He took a bullet for me today. He loves me as much as I love him. And I feel that love flowing into me. Warmth fills my body, my heart. I am floating in Blair's arms. Rocked back and forth. Back and forth. Safe with Blair.

Blair is growing inside me like the sun. His heat is warm, not hot and cruel. It swells inside me gentle yet insistent as I rock back and forth in Blair's arms. When my orgasm hits, it too is gentle, filling me with joy and pushing away the fear and sorrow. I shiver in slow motion and mewl with pleasure around Blair's finger in my mouth. One more thing that comes to me from Blair.

I nurse at Blair contentedly until the discomfort of cold dampness at my groin brings me out of it. Reluctantly, I open my mouth, allowing Blair's finger to fall away, and push up from the chair to go to the bathroom.

I lock the door and take off my pants and boxers. Soaping and rinsing myself at the sink, I stare at the man in the mirror. I don't know this man; I don't know what he's doing here. I'm supposed to be the Sentinel. I'm supposed to be the one who protects the tribe and I'm the one who gets injured doing it. I know that. I accept it. It's how I earn my reward. My right to have Blair. My joy.

But Blair's the one in the hospital bed, lying still and silent. And everything's wrong.

The man in the mirror is shaking, his mouth twisted in anguish. The look in his eyes is... bad. No. I can't allow this.

I lean forward and look him straight in the eye. "Suck it up, soldier. In the middle of a crisis is no time to fall apart. Blair's going to survive this. He's not going anywhere. He's my guide. My reward. He'll come home and everything will be fine again. Just hold on."

Yes, that's better. That'll do. The man in the mirror stands tall, eyes steady and confident. Everything's going to be fine. It has to be.

I pull my pants back on. Fold the boxers up, carry them out and stuff them in my coat pocket. Sitting back down in my chair, I hold Blair's hand and watch him breathe for the rest of the night.

And in the morning, when the nurse comes in to check on him, Blair opens his eyes and smiles at me.

**Author's Note:**

> This series was originally written as Insatiable 1, 2 and 3. Then I wrote a bunch of interludes that I’ve placed in order after each section it expands. You have the choice of reading it in that order or, since this section ends with Jim seriously decompressing, I recommend jumping immediately to [Insatiable 2](http://archiveofourown.org/works/198793) where Blair finds out what’s going on.


End file.
